


The Fall of the Empire of Arcadia By Means of Violent Good Intentions

by louise9431



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louise9431/pseuds/louise9431
Summary: Clarke's first act as Queen after the mysterious death of her father is an act of measured mercy.





	1. A Public Hearing In Which the Outcome is Dependent on Factors Yet Unknown

The first thing he noticed about her was that she was small. The impression was only exacerbated by the gilded monstrosity she sat upon and to that end, the scale of room she inhabited betrayed her, making her look more childlike than she was.

The grandeur of the hall made her plain blue sheath seem even plainer.

The number of guards that flanked her throne only made her appear weaker.

The next observation he made was that she looked bored, an alarming note given the circumstances. Her face was humorless and despite the chaos of the hall she reacted to nothing.

In another life he might have looked at her golden hair and delicate features and thought she was beautiful.

But in this life he was shackled and on his knees before the youngest queen his country has known.

In this life a street vendor called for his hand to be cut off for stealing.

In this life an officer of the law called for his head saying that his crimes were aligned with a plot made by the rebels.

In this life Bellamy did not not have the time to appreciate the young queen’s pretty face.

Her focus turned to two men who were deep in an explanation of a property dispute. One of the men had planted wheat in his field but when the next season came he found that the wheat seeds had blown into his neighbor's field who was now profiting off of the crop of free wheat.

On occasion an austere man who was positioned next to the Queen leaned down to confer with her. She responded in subtle nods and shakes of her head.

Bellamy had seen several hearings while waiting for his own and knew that soon the man would deliver the Queens verdict and it would be his turn on the stand.

Bellamy glanced into the crowd who had packed themselves into the throne room to watch the public hearings. The turnout was overwhelming given the sudden circumstances with which the Queen found herself on the throne. Curiosity had driven the people of Arcadia to see if the young woman who had just buried her father would be a formidable Queen. Bellamy scanned the faces for his sister but was snapped back to attention by the crackle of the guard's electric prod.

“This man, guilty of stealing from a hardworking citizen, is suspected of aligning himself with the rebel insurgents and is a part of a larger plan to overthrow our Queen to subject our country to chaos.”

Bellamy flinched at the guards words. He was guilty, of course he was guilty, just not of the rebel accusations and he resented the assumption. For years Arcadia had battled the fringe group that called itself The 100, a rebel alliance set on dismantling the monarchy. The 100 was also intent on dissolving the country's ties with Asgada a nation that had close military and trade relationships with Arcadia but that rebels condemned for its fascist regime. The 100 were radicals with bounties on their heads worth much more than Bellamy had ever stolen.

The Queen’s adviser hunched to whisper into her ear. Bellamy watched her closely as she gave the man a barely perceivable shake of her head. The man hunched again and spoke more emphatically to the young woman who had turned her cold gaze to Bellamy and was intently studying him.

Her adviser projected into the hall which grew silent in his wake, “ This man, guilty of stealing and fraternizing with terrorist groups shall pay the penalty for the worst of his crimes. The sentence for treason against Queen and country-”

“I’m not one of them!” Bellamy protested.

“-is to hang.”

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of support and dissent.

Bellamy was met with the sharp stab of the prod.

Cheers roared through the crowd, hungry for excitement after hours of dowry disputes and mismanaged contracts.

Egged on by the onlookers the guard took the opportunity to crack at Bellamy again, this time opening up the skin of his cheek.

Without warning the hall fell silent. Bellamy turned back to look at the crowd searching for the source of the change. He turned back to the throne to see that the young Queen had risen to her feet.

Once she was content that the chaos had ended she resumed her seat. She fixed her eyes on Bellamy.

“What evidence do you have that this man has participated in the workings of The 100?”

The guard looked uncertainly from the queen to her adviser.

“Well we find that most criminals are-”

“So you have no proof that this man is a member of The 100?”

“Well we-”

“A simple ‘no’ will suffice”

The guard shrunk at the icy venom dripping from the woman’s voice.

“No.”

“What is your name?”

Bellamy waited for an answer from the guard before realizing that the question was directed at him.

“Blake, Bellamy Blake, Your Majesty.”

“There is sufficient evidence to support the claim that you are a thief.”

Bellamy met her gray eyes with a look of fiery indignation.

“I’ve never-”

“That wasn’t a question. I would suggest that you not add perjury to your list of crimes.”

The Queen spoke quietly but her words held the room. “Do you know what the punishment is for a thief?”

Bellamy nodded.

“What was worth losing your right hand over?”

“Bread.”

Bellamy felt a bolt of triumph to see the woman waver at his answer.

“Why did you steal bread?”

“Because my sister was starving.”

The queen studied his face for a moment, betraying no emotion in her own.

“Why is your sister starving?”

Bellamy stared at the floor his face hot with shame.

“I lost my job.”

“Why did you lose your job?”

Bellamy looked up at the woman who seemed so keen to embarrass him.

“I missed work to care for our mother.”

For the first time since the hearing began Bellamy saw a tick in the Queen’s upper lip.

“You didn’t have a choice?”

“Well I could have left my mother to die alone if that’s what you are implying.”

The air grew thick with tension as the audience hangs on the Queen’s reaction to being spoken to in such a manner.

The Queen considered Bellamy for a moment.

“You did not have a choice then Bellamy Blake, but you will have one now. You may accept your sentence as a guilty man charged with stealing and lose your right hand. Or you may repay your debt to society by working here. At the palace.”

The Queen’s adviser spoke hurriedly into her ear. She shook him off.

“You will be paid a wage with which you can pay the baker back for his bread. And you will serve a probationary period in which you will be housed within the palace's grounds.”

Bellamy studied the Queen’s small face for a hint that she was speaking in jest and moments away from sending him to the gallows.

“What do you choose Bellamy Blake?”

“My sister-”

“Ah yes, your sister. If you choose to work at the palace she will be accommodated as well. She will be housed with you and educated with my ladies in waiting.”

Bellamy searched the girl's face. How sadistic could this girl be to dangle a fix for every problem he carried when she could just as easily have his head. Why was she toying with him in this way?

“Mr. Blake. Your choice.”

“I choose the second.”

The Queen watched Bellamy and nodded curtly.

“Good.”


	2. In Which Advice is Given and Moxie is Exhibited

Clarke sat alone in the dark hallway. Alone save for the guards posted at every door.

The natural light faded and the long day settled into her bones.

She isn’t oblivious to what was being said of her.

_“What kind of person doesn’t cry at their father’s funeral?”_

_“Let’s just hope she’s old enough to marry.”_

_“Have you ever even seen her smile?”_

Barely a week had passed since her father’s death and still Clarke found herself waiting.

Waiting to turn a corner and see him walking the halls.

Waiting to wake up and find out that she had dreamt the past few days.

Waiting to feel sad.

At present, she was just waiting for someone to tell her where to go.

Clarke’s life now consisted of being hurried from one dress fitting to another dinner to another meeting with Asgada leadership.

It was almost funny; with all of the scheduling, Clarke made fewer decisions as Queen than she ever did as a child.

Even at the public hearings she found that she could barely think over Jaha’s incessant whispering. She understood the place of an adviser but as the day wore on she grew more and more frustrated with his counsel.

She was unable to hide her annoyance when Jaha insisted that she make an example of the man who stole bread for his brother.

Times were hard in Arcadia. A King had fallen with no warning. Rebels in the North threatened to upend the government. Ties with Asgada were tenuous at best. Clarke was painfully aware of it all but when she looked into the eyes of the desperate young man on his knees she couldn’t hear any of Jaha’s political insight.

She just knew that she couldn’t be the type of Queen to kill a man for stealing a loaf of bread.

That wasn’t the type of King her father was.

“Prince-- Your Majesty.”

Clarke was shaken from her revelry by her handmaiden, a brash woman named Raven.

Clarke and Raven were raised together. Raven’s mother drank herself into an early grave leaving Raven to live with her aunt. Raven’s aunt was a handmaiden to Clarke’s mother and took her in to lived in the castle.

From the start, Raven was wholly unimpressed with Clarke’s royal blood and Clarke loved her for it. Through Raven, Clarke caught glimpses of a normal childhood. Raven’s loyalty to Clarke compelled her to become a handmaiden.

Clarke glanced up at her friend. Raven had changed since the King’s death. She treated Clarke more formally than she ever had, unsure how to address the girl she had known who was now Queen. It made Clarke feel lonelier.

“Your Majesty, the Dowager Queen is requesting your presence in her chambers.”

“Raven we were bathed together for two years. You can still call me Clarke.”

Raven smirked. “Your Royal Eminence--”

“You know I could have you beheaded without a trial right?”

Raven smirk stretched into a smile.

“Your Mother wants to talk to you.”

Clarke sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been exactly as long as every day that has come before it.”

Clarke closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She held out her hand to Raven who took it to help her from her seat. Clarke squeezed her old friend's hand and stood.

Clarke followed Raven down the long halls of the palace up to the west tower where her mother had taken up residence.

Raven knocked on the Dowager Queen’s door and left Clark to face her mother.

Abigail’s lady opened the door and ushered Clark in.

The room smelled like Abigail, like amber and vanilla.

The scent made Clark nauseous.

“Jaha tells me that you are not heeding his counsel.”

Clarke’s mother appeared from behind a carved wooden divider.

Clarke watches her mother cross the room and thinks absently that mourning looks good on her mother. Abigail always carried herself in a purposeful way which read as perseverance in the wake of her husband's death. Clarke hated that her mother took everything in stride, always moving forward while Clarke felt so incredibly stagnant.

“I heed Jaha’s counsel when it is good.”

“Jaha served your father for many years, he knows of what he speaks. How are you to decide what counsel is good? ”

Clarke sat rather gracelessly in one of her mother brocade chairs.

“I don’t know, mother, perhaps I should take on another counselor to counsel me on the counsel of my counselor.”

“Petulance is unattractive in a girl and unacceptable in a Queen.”

“I won’t hang a man with no evidence of conspiracy.”

Abigail sat across from Clarke and took her hand.

  
“You cannot let your guard down with the rebels, Clarke. Turn your back for one moment and you will find a knife in it. You are young and a girl which is two strikes against you. You mustn’t allow them to take advantage. Even if they have a pretty face--”

Clarke drew her hand away, her face grew hot. “I didn’t spare him because of what he looked like.”

“Of course not dear. I just want you to understand the importance of the counsel that Thelonius and Marcus give to you. Their wisdom will get us through this difficult time.”

Clarke winced but quickly melted the grimace into a smile.

“Of course.”

Abigail stood and cupped her daughter’s cheek. “You are so-- so beautiful, darling.”

Abigail swept out of the room, flanked by her ladies in waiting, leaving Clarke alone.

Clarke thought about her mother’s words and decided that she was wrong.

Of course she didn’t spare the man’s life because he was handsome. He was handsome but that was a matter fact, as incidental as the shirt on his back.

She spared him because it was the right thing to do.

And because it felt so good to do something that would annoy Jaha and Marcus and all of the people whispering in her ear.

The fact that it pissed off her mother was just a bonus.


	3. A Familiar Reprieve From What Has Been a Particularly Trying Day

Across the palace Bellamy pressed his forehead into the cool marble of the wall as he waited for a guard to remove his shackles.

His shoulders were still tensed around his ears, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Arcadia was a modern country, a leader in nuclear tech, a thriving economy, a military outfitted with the fastests jets and biggest guns but the traditions of the country were brutal and unforgiving. Bellamy had never heard of a thief who was tried and still had both hands to show for it.

Bellamy closed his eyes and tried to remember every detail of his conversation with the Queen but found that his memories had already blended together. Everything in the hall was so loud and chaotic but Bellamy couldn’t shake the image of cold blue eyes piercing through the noise. The eyes were sad but they were steady.

Bellamy was brought back to the present by a blur of long black hair and knobby limbs that hurtled at him.

“O”

Bellamy’s younger sister, Octavia, was a spark plug. She was always experiencing the most of every emotion, swinging between undiluted joy and inconsolable grief in the span of a conversation. She wound her arms around her brother’s neck and burrows her face into his shoulder.

Bellamy struggled to comfort his sister with his hand still bound.

“I thought they were gonna chop you Bellamy, I really did.”

“ What? Are you saying you wouldn’t love me if I only had one hand?”

“Can you not be an asshole right now?”

Bellamy smiled at his little sister who rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t see you in the crowd.”

“I couldn’t get to the front. People really want to see this new Queen.” Octavia released her brother and brushes the wrinkles from his shirt, refusing to make eye contact with him. “You think she meant it?’

Bellamy leaned back against the wall and watched his sister. In that moment Octavia looked so vulnerable and trusting he felt a pain in his chest. She had been through so much and now she was asking him if it was alright to have hope.

“She said it in front of all of those people. She can’t go back on her word now.”

Octavia brightened. Now that she had permission from her brother to believe in this future, she was buzzing with energy.

“What kind of job do you think you’ll get?”

“I don’t know O-”

“You should tell them about all the history stuff you know. Maybe you can do something with that!”  
A guard approached and removed Bellamy’s shackles.

Octavia ignored the man’s presence and jumped around her brother.

“Or you could tell them about that time you worked as a security guard at that museum!”

Octavia bounces down the hall with her sullen guardian in tow.

“Do you think I’ll get to be a lady in waiting to the Queen?”

“I don’t know, O.”

Octavia stopped suddenly forcing Bellamy to walk into her. She turned to look at him.

“Bell?”

“Yeah?”

Octavia smiled warmly and took her brothers hand.

“You should have stolen me bread years ago.”


	4. In Which Libations are Abused To the Detriment of Propriety and Memory

“The grey dress is lovely Your Highness.”

“Raven.”

“Yes Your Highness?’

“Bite your tongue any harder and your teeth will go right through it.”

“Grey? Clarke, you’re young, you are vibrant. Wear something that reflects that!”

Clarke smiled at Raven, who had made a concerted effort to treat Clarke as she had before.

Clarke stood in her dressing room, flanked by her ladies and assistants who put papers in front of her to sign.

Jaha entered the room and women’s tittering ceased. All of Clarke’s ladies but Raven excused themselves.

“Your Majesty, Asgada will be sending their princes to dine with you next week.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped to Jaha’s. The Asgada princes were dangerous men who had served years in their military. They drank to excess and bragged about the women they had bed. Clarke had spent time with the men and had her fill but it was no secret that down the line a marriage between herself and one of the princes would become necessary.

Jaha stood in the dressing room expectantly.

“Is there something else, Thelonius?”

“Be… hospitable Clarke. Arcadia needs all of the friends that it can get.”

“So I should put out after dinner? Or should they just arrive to the meal with me on the table with an apple in my mouth?”

Jaha drew a breath to address her comments but stopped himself, nodded curtly and walked out the door.

Raven snorted into her hand.

Clarke rolled her eyes as another assistant stepped forward.

“Your Majesty, we need you to approve a work form.”

Clarke teased the nervous man with her deadpan. “Isn’t that a bit below my pay grade, Gerry?”

“It’s for the bread thief. Because of your involvement with his case, Kane wanted you to approve his work assignment. He’s being placed in custodial services.”

“That will do. Here let me sign.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Clarke of Arcadia!”

Clarke raised her eyebrow at the youngest of the Asgada princes.

Roan was a handsome man whose charm was nearly feline. He was a Captain in the army and easily the most sensible of the princes. He was a man of few words except for when he drinks. His brothers Loac and Sy were oafs by comparison. They were lecherous and rude and Clarke had been avoiding their company all night.

Unfortunately the men were intent on drinking with the new Queen. Because they were obnoxious they kept her glass full and because they were obnoxious, she kept drinking.

By the last course Clarke was warm and giddy.

Roan offers to walk her back to her rooms but she shook him off.

Her guards followed her to the entryway of the great hall where she dismissed them to have a moment alone. Of course she was never alone, the guards stationed themselves at the doors at either end and waited for her to leave.

She stumbled down the empty hall and leaned against a pillar. She slid down to sit on the ground.

The wine, which had given her such a pleasant buzzing sensation was now making the room spin.

Clarke let her body go slack and her eyes close. The past days had been like riding a train moving so quickly that all one could do was try to remain seated, forgetting all hopes of taking in the passing scenery.

For just a moment in the empty hall, Clarke imagined that she is the only person in the world, totally free of expectations.

The illusion shattered with a sloshing sound and a rustle of fabric.

Clarke’s eyes flew open and she saw a tall man mopping the floors of the hall. His back was turned to her and she watched him work. He has a mass of wild black hair that he has unsuccessfully tried to tame and broad shoulders that send a warm boom under Clarke’s rib cage.

She laughed to herself thinking of what a sight she must be, the Queen of Arcadia, splayed out on the ground, ogling a janitor. The idea struck her as so absurd she exhaled through her nose more loudly than she anticipated.

The janitor turned to find the source of the sound and scans the moonlit hall. His eyes fell on Clarke and he stiffened.

Clarke refused to be embarrassed by the situation and collected herself. She attempted to stand but found that it would be much easier if the floor would just stay in one place.

Clarke locked eyes with the man, challenging him to remark on her predicament when she realized that his face was familiar to her. She tried to place him but her memory was fogged by wine.

“Do I know you?”

“Your Majesty--”

“I do know you. You’re the bread thief.”

The man grimaced. “Does someone know you are here Your Majesty?”

“I’m sure they do. There are guards at every entry to every room in this palace. I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.” Clarke tripped over her words.

“Don’t you mean, no one could get in?” The man looked to the entryway nervous that someone could walk in and misread the situation.

“Sure”. Even in her intoxicated state Clarke was even keeled in her responses and her face remained blank, a trick she learned from years of watching her mother.

“You should be getting to your rooms, Your--”

“Do you like it?”

The man rested his mops against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. He seemed to be concerned in a brotherly, protective way that amused Clarke.

“Like what?”

“Your new job?”

The man struggled to conceal his annoyance which tickled Clarke.

“I’m very grateful for the opportunity.”

“And your sister?”

The man shifted from one foot to the other. “She enjoys life in the castle.”

Clarke leaned her head back against the pillar and closed her eyes. “Good. That’s good.”

“Your Majesty you really should--”

“What is your name again?”

“Bellamy, Bellamy Blake.”

“Bellamy, for tonight and just tonight you don’t have to use my title. Infact I order you not to.” Clarke kept her eyes closed. “For tonight, I’m Clarke. What would you say to me if I was just Clarke?”

Clarke peaked out of the corner of one eye to look at Bellamy who was watching her closely.

“I’d say you are drunk. I’d say you need to go to bed.”

“I think I’ll just sit here a little while longer. Then I’ll go to bed.”

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty.”

Clarke smiled to herself and settled in against the pillar. She was lulled to sleep by the sounds of the water and the mop and the handsome janitor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning Clarke woke in her bed with a pounding in her temples and a crick in her neck. She tried to piece together her night but found that around the fourth course her memories are hazy.

She remembered sitting in a hallway with shoes in her hand and her hair pins falling out.

She remembered talking to someone but she can’t remember who it was.

And she remembered being curled up against a broad chest, wrapped in strong arms carrying her to her room.

But all of that was probably just a dream.


	5. In Which a Murderous Plot is Foiled by a Set of Sharp Teeth

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  
Clarke pulled at her gown trying to situate the bodice so that the boning would not be sticking into her side. She couldn't fathom spending an entire evening being impaled by her clothes and considered feigning an illness.

Of course if she did that the world’s best doctors would be flown in and the country would be thrown into a state of emergency and the evening's events would be cancelled which would ultimately only hurt the endangered animals or orphans that the dinner would be benefiting.

Clarke sighed at herself in the mirror and resigned herself to a night of intense discomfort.

“You okay?”

Clarke started at the soft voice outside her dressing room door. She had sent her ladies in waiting away once she had been dressed.

“Who is there?”

The door opened and revealed a birdlike girl with tan skin and long black hair. The girl’s eyes grew wide when she saw Clarke.

“Your Highness, oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you. I’ll just go. Shit-- I’m sorry. Shit-- I didn’t mean to swear.” The girl erupted into a string of nearly unintelligible apologies.

Clarke hid a smile, thoroughly charmed by the erratic young woman who was unable to harness her emotions.

“What were you doing outside of my door?”

 

“I was waiting for Raven. Our Classics lesson was cancelled and I wanted to see if she wanted to get dinner in the city.” The girl's brow furrowed as she thought about what she just said. “But you don’t care about the last part. I was just waiting for Raven.”

Clarke evaluated the girl, trying to remember if she had seen her before. “Are you one of my new ladies?”

The girl looked confused.

“No I just take lessons with them. You arranged for it.”

“I did?”

“I’m Octavia Blake. You saved my brother from hanging.”

Clarke looked at the girl with new interest, she shifted in her stance and winced as the dress stabs into her side.

“Are you okay?”

“This treasonous dress is trying to kill me.”

Octavia’s face brightened and she laughed at the joke.

Clarke caught herself. She was not used to people laughing at what she has said, most people just nodded and made serious noises of affirmation. Raven occasionally snorted but Clarke had never thought of herself as being particularly funny.

Octavia’s peals of laughter made the room seem warmer. She took a step toward Clarke who reflexively took a step back.

“It’s okay.” Octavia held up her open palms, “My mother was a seamstress. I was hopeless with stitching but I think I can help.”

Clarke nodded curtly. She had never been treated in such a familiar manner by a stranger before and she didn't know what to make of the smiling girl in front of her.

Octavia unzipped the dress and peeled away the side to investigate the offending boning. To Clarke’s shock, Octavia leaned in and bit into the one of a kind couture gown and ripped a seam with her teeth. She tore down the dress and pulled out the boning.

She made quick work of it and moved on to the other side, chatting happily.

“See you have to pick the right seam to rip, pick the wrong one and the whole dress would fall off!”

“Did your mother teacher you this?”

“Well she taught me a little. She used to get real sick and I’d have to pick up some of the work. Bellamy is even worse with a needle than I am but he tried to help.”

Clarke watched the girl who buzzed around her, biting off loose threads and adjusting the dress.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“Well covering for Mom was way better than the alternative. Once when she was sick for a couple of months, Bell and I got sent to a group home which was so much worse. Before I was born Bell had to live in a orphanage for a while. He doesn't talk about but he always worked real hard to make sure I wouldn’t end up in one-- and I’m talking too much.”

Octavia blushed and smiled meekly. “You should be all set.”

Clarke twisted her torso, trying out the changes Octavia had made. The dress now melted over her body instead of digging into it.

“Octavia, thank you.”

Octavia blinked and a look of total sincerity contorted her face. “ No, Your Highness, thank you.”

“Consider us even. I spared your brother and you saved my internal organs from being punctured by my dress during a five course meal.”

Octavia burst into laughter, again taking Clarke by surprise. She executed a clumsy curtsy and smiled at Clarke as she backed out of the dressing room.

Clarke watched her go, feeling a warm fondness for the strange girl who had just ripped her dress apart with her teeth.


	6. What Would Be a Very Pleasant Conversation Were it Not For the Distracting Influences of Male Hormones

Bellamy rolled his head from side to side trying to coax some looseness into his muscles. His job as a janitor was hard on his body but he would take an aching back over his previous situation.

He always liked working. It gave him a sense of purpose that aided in his ability to sleep.

Bellamy sat at the small table in the small apartment in the service quarters of the palace that was provided for him and Octavia to stay in. It was cramped but it was clean and all of the appliances work so it was miles better than any other place they had lived.

It had been a long day and Bellamy was excited to take a hot shower and go to bed but Octavia had yet to return to the apartment and he didn’t like to go to bed not knowing where she was.

He glanced at the clock on the wall at the exact moment that his sister stumbled into the room.

“Spare me the lecture Bell, I just had the craziest day.”

Bellamy cocked an eyebrow as Octavia plopped down in the chair across from him. Her hair was a wild tangle of long brown tresses and her cheeks are pink from exertion. She looked happier than he has seen in a long time.

“So afternoon lessons were cancelled and Raven and I decided to go to that street market where that guy sells those fried meat pockets and then maybe walk around.”

“I’m riveted.” Bellamy deadpanned.

Octavia rolled her eye and pressed on. “So I went to pick up Raven and I’m outside the Queen’s quarters and I hear someone swearing like a sailor! So I go inside cause I figure Raven’s just stubbed her toe or something and get this! I walk in on the Queen cussing out her ball gown!”

Bellamy stiffened at the mention of the Queen.

He had tried to forget that strange night when the drunken Queen had watched him mop the floors but he couldn’t shake the image of the blonde woman lazily sitting on the ground.

She was so beautiful with her undone hair and wine stained lips and guard all the way down, it nearly killed him.

The fact that the Queen was attractive was not a secret but it was also not something he gave too much thought until that night.

And then of course there were those nagging thoughts that he had been pushing away ever since.

Thoughts about the dress she wore that night that hugged her body in a way that made his chest tight.

Thoughts about how her voice was raspy from a long night and made everything she said sound like a secret whispered between lovers.

Thoughts about how she stuck her nose into his chest, inhaled deeply and bit the fabric of his shirt in her sleep when he carried her back to bed.

Surely it must be some form of treason to think about your Queen in this way, he thought.

Bellamy figured that he needs to get laid. He was fantasizing about the Queen out of sheer sexual frustration resulting from living in such close quarters with his sister which has rendered him unable to find a release.

Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck trying to focus on what his sister is saying to him, something about seams and teeth but he wasn’t certain.

He was being ridiculous, he thought. The Queen is a cold and distant woman who was born with every privilege that life could provide. Should he really worship her for overriding a barbaric and antiquated law? No. She had done the bare minimum to achieve decency and one drunken moment had him thinking of her at every turn. Pathetic.

As Bellamy thought about it the more he grew more annoyed with the frigid blonde woman. She was spoiled and soft to the ways of the world. She was stuck up and self absorbed. She sat in her gilded palace while people he knows were rotting away on the streets of her cities.

He thought of her because she is pretty and he was a straight man with eyes. End of story.

He really should ask out the brunette who works in the kitchens who always smiled at him when he cleaned out the ovens.

“Earth to Bellamy?”

He looked at his sister who has finished her story and was waiting eagerly for his reaction.

“Isn’t that wild?” She prodded him for a response.

“Wild.” Bellamy repeated back to his sister.


	7. In Which Philanthropic Intentions are Inspired, Enacted, and Promptly Distrusted

Clarke sat in a sunny room sharing afternoon tea with foreign dignitaries and discussing trade tariffs.

 

Or, at least, that was what she appeared to be doing.

 

Instead she was staring out the window thinking about two dark haired children living in a group home.

 

She assured herself that the injustice of their situation was the reason that she had been thinking about them whenever her mind drifted.

 

Clarke turned to the ambassador from Floukru, a peaceful island nation south of Arcadia.

 

“Luna,” The ambassador looked up from her tea and cocked her head, ready to listen to Clarke’s question, “What system does Floukru employ for child who have lost their parents?”

 

Luna considered Clarke for a moment and answered thoughtfully.

 

“We have a network of families that volunteer to take in children who do not have guardians and are paid a small tax sheltered wage from the government to cover expenses. But I assume you ask in reference to Arcadia whose population is significantly larger and would not be able to sustain that system.”

 

Clarke listened to Luna and nodded. Clarke confided in her old friend and ally.

 

“I worry that the children in Arcadia are falling through bureaucratic cracks and are unable to advocate for themselves.”

 

Luna’s mouth quirked up at the corner.

 

“That is a worthy cause Your Highness. May I offer you counsel?”

 

“Luna, I have known you long enough that I would hope you need not ask permission for such things.”

 

Luna sipped her tea and looked around the room of elderly men who were laughing at some joke about taxes.

 

“Your Highness, it is not enough for you to care about something. You must show your people that you care. A leader must walk ahead of her people in the direction of her true north.”

 

Clarke shifted in her seat, suddenly anxious.

 

“And what if no one follows?”

 

“Then she is not a leader.”

 

Clarke nodded respectfully and Luna, sensing her discomfort sat back in her chair.

 

“Your highness I apologize. A question of policy has turned into a litany of axioms. My advice is to shine a light on the problems you find so that other’s can see them as you do.”

 

“Thank you Luna.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Octavia nervously picked at her nails as she paced outside of the Queen’s dressing room.

 

She had been summoned earlier in the day and she had spent every moment since racking her mind for a reason. She was convinced that she said something or did something without even realizing it and now she and Bellamy were going to be kicked out of the palace and back on--

 

“Octavia?” Raven opened the door and snapped Octavia out of her panic.

 

“Yes?”

 

“The Queen will see you.”

 

Octavia passed Raven through the open door. Raven gave her a small, comforting smile.

 

Octavia found Clarke seated at her vanity reading an old tome and taking notes. Clarke glanced up when she heard Octavia and rose to greet her.

 

“Octavia, thank you for meeting me.”

 

Octavia bowed in a awkward, jerking motion.

 

“Of course Your Highness.”

 

“I was thinking about what you said the other day.”

 

Octavia blushed.

 

“Octavia, what you and your brother went through was unacceptable. My father could not have been aware of the child services situation or else he would have put an end to it. I want my first major legislation to address the system.”

 

Octavia blinked.

 

“That’s great your Highness.”

 

Clarke searched Octavias face. “Octavia, I need your help. Having someone who was intimately familiar with the programs in place would be invaluable to invoking real, positive change.”

 

Octavia studied her own folded hands in front of her.

 

“Your Highness--”

 

“Don’t say no, not yet. I’m going to the children’s home in few days to hold a press conference announcing my intention to focus my efforts on orphaned and disadvantaged children in our kingdom. Come with me. Help me see the place for what it is.”

 

Octavia chewed her lip. Clarke reached out an appeasing hand.

 

“Bring your brother. Bring Raven. Please Octavia, I need your help.”

 

Octavia looked up at Clarke finally meeting her eyes.

 

“Yes Your Highness.”

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“No, O. No way.”

 

“Bell, come on. The Queen asked me to go. She told me to bring you.”

 

Bellamy slammed the silverware drawer closed.

 

“Dammit O! We aren’t some charity case that the Queen can parade around.”

 

Octavia folded her arms across her chest.

 

“She wants to help kids like us Bell. She asked for our help. How can you be so full of yourself to think that this is about you?”

 

Bellamy sat down at the small wooden dinner table that was pushed to the corner of the kitchen. He lowered his voice to placate his sister who was wearing a hole in the kitchen floor in front of him.

 

“She’s doing a noble thing,” he said “I’m not denying that. But I don’t see why we should have to open old wounds just to be the poster children for her political gain.”

 

Octavia stopped pacing and studied her brother. She sat across from him at the table.

 

“It’s the home isn’t it?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes bore into the wood grain of the table.

 

Octavia pressed on. “If you didn’t want to go back to the home, no one would blame you.”

 

Bellamy’s eyes snapped up to meet his sister.

 

“It’s not that, O. I just don’t think it’s anyone else’s business what we went through.”

 

Octavia nodded carefully.

 

“Bellamy you don’t have to com--”

 

“I’ll be there.” 

  
  



	8. In Which The Irrational Fear of Public Speaking is Overshadowed by a Very Rational Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know there is implied gun violence in this chapter. I weighed whether not to include it for a while and I hope that I made the right call.

This was a mistake.

Clarke looked into the small crowd that had crammed itself into the entrance hall of the children's home.

She had gone on the tour, seen the overcrowded dormitories, seen the sorry state of the kitchens. She had posed for photos with the caretakers and teachers. And now came the part of the day that she had been quietly dreading; her speech.

Because of the rushed nature of her coronation, Clarke had yet to deliver a formal speech and she found that she was utterly nervous at the prospect.

Clarke stood on one of the steps in front of the microphone that had been set up for her. She looked into the crowd and saw Octavia’s face near the side of the stage. The younger girl smiled at her encouragingly. 

Clarke noted that Octavia’s brother was standing next to her in the crowd. He had been behaving strangely all day. Clarke had noticed him eyeing the doorways throughout the tour and he had adopted an ashy pallor that made him appear sickly.

Clarke met his eyes in the crowd and saw him watching her as though he was trying to predict her next move. He nodded his head so subtly it would not have been perceivable had Clarke not been watching him.

Clarke turns her eyes to the crowd.

“I was born in a palace. I took my first steps in satin shoes. My favorite food when I was seven was duck fat pate.” Clarke spoke evenly to a crowd of confused reporters and townspeople.

“My life has been furnished with every privilege that one could imagine, including the privilege of ignorance. I was ignorant to the reality of how so many children were living not miles away from my ivory tower. If a tree falls in a forest and nobody's there to hear it, it doesn’t matter if it made a sound, what is important is that it fell. So now we are in the forest, listening to the trees, trying to find out what is making them fall. This I do in service to my people and repentance for my too lengthy ignorance. Changes will be made, this I swear.”

Clarke.looked into the crowd, waiting for a response. 

“Long live the Queen!” Someone shouted. 

“Long live the Queen.” The crowd echoed.

Clarke stepped away from the microphone as flashes from cameras blinded her.

One of the nearby caretakers handed Clarke a young girl to hold in her arms. Clarke took her stiffly and awkwardly maneuvered the child to sit on her hip. The child had inky black hair and bright blue eyes that stared at Clarke with wonder.

The little girl grabbed hold of Clarke necklace and giggled at the shiny pendant.

Clarke had never been comfortable around children and she was certain that they did not like her but her heart warmed holding the toddler who was giggling and cooing in her ear.

The rest of the children lined up for a photo with Clarke. 

A loud bang rang through the halls and Clarke froze. 

It took her a moment to realize the sound was a gunshot.

“Gun!” Someone screamed and the room erupted into panic.

Clarke scanned the crowd for her guards who swarmed towards her.

“Find the shooter. Now.” Clarke was resolute in her order despite their insistence that protocol kept them with her.

Clarke, still holding the young girl grabbed the hand of the young boy next to her and spoke to group of children.

“Follow me. Don’t make any noise.” 

Clarke led the children out of the room into a smaller dormitory. Clarke put the girl down on a bed and locked the door behind her. She shepherded the children to the far corner of the room which was away from the windows and door. 

She crouched with them, a seam ripping up the side of her dress. She was doing her best to shield them from anyone coming into the room. The young girl crawled into her lap and starts to cry.

Clarke looks at the childrens’ scared faces and she felt as though she had been plunged into an ice bath. She felt every nerve in her body fire at once.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Clarke spoke her promise fiercely and made eye contact with the children around her. 

“Do you understand? Nothing bad will happen to you while I am here.”

Two gunshots rang through the halls and the children huddled together in fear. 

There was a banging on the door. Clarke’s blood ran cold. She oriented herself so she was covering as many children as she could. 

The door was kicked open. Clarke tensed, ready for what was to come.

She turned her head and her eyes grew wide. 

Bellamy Blake had broken into the room and was shutting the door and dragging dressers and beds in front of the frame to block the opening.

When he was content that his barricade would hold, he looked at Clarke. He felt the air kicked out of his lungs when he saw her ripped dress, mussed hair and scared eyes. He felt something inside himself twist when he realized that she had thrown herself over the bodies of the children to protect them. He rushed to Clarke and took her face in his hands to scan for any injury. 

Clarke flinched at the contact, not used to such physical displays. She closed her eyes feeling the warm wash of relief run through her body.

A whimper brought her back to the present. Clarke opened her eyes and saw the children still shaking in fear. 

Bellamy dropped his hands from her face and she assured the children that he would not hurt them.

She turned her attentions back to Bellamy.

“What is going on out there?”

Bellamy glanced at the children, weighing in his mind how to word his answer. 

“They are saying there are two men who came to protest who got violent.”

“That makes no sense. Who would protest a children's home?”

Bellamy could not meet her eyes. “They are saying it’s The 100.”

“Where’s Octavia?”

“I got her out before they locked the place down. She’s alright.”

Clarke nodded, relieved. “Good.”

Another shot rang out from far away. Clarke threw herself over the children and tensed for the worst. 

After a moment she opened her eyes and realized that Bellamy had covered her body with his own. 

She turned her head to see him. 

He caught her eye and after a long moment he removed himself from her. He was red and couldn’t meet her eye. 

“Bellamy--”

“I’m going out there.”

Clarke’s brow furrowed. 

“No you aren’t. It’s too dangerous.”

Bellamy stood, readying himself. 

“What’s dangerous is sitting around waiting for them to find us.”

“My guards are taking care of it.”

“No offense Your Majesty but if they haven’t taken care of it by now, I’d say they don’t have a handle on the situation.”

“I am your Queen.” Clarke rises to stand in front of him, eyes ablaze. “I command you to stay.”

Bellamy smirked humorlessly. “Yeah well if we both make it out of this, you can behead me yourself.”

“Bellamy!” Clarke grabbed at his arms as he pushed his barricades aside. “You don’t have to do this.”

Bellamy turned to face Clarke and shrugged with a sad smile on his face. 

“If I had too, it wouldn’t be nearly as heroic.”

Bellamy pushed open the door and left Clarke standing in the room, feeling utterly helpless.


End file.
